Niko had visions of four children with powerful magics. Unfortunately he couldn't get to them because no one believed him. He had been travelling a lot and was suffering from heat stroke. No one was around when he was lying in Winding Circle infirmary and saw the children and their possible futures filled with happiness.
In the Palace of Black Swans, Zakdin, capital of Hatar:
Lady Sandrilene fa Toren was in her dark cell. The oil lamp had gone out long ago. She was still braiding her threads of light. The last of the silk ran through her fingers as the light dulled down to a smoky grey. Her fingers trembled with exhaustion. Her eyes showed the horrors she had witnessed and the despair she now felt. What was the point? Why didn't she just give up? It would be so much easier. So that is what she did when the last of her silks were braided and there was no more light. She gave up. She lay down on her side and closed her eyes. For the last time.
In the southeastern Pebbled Sea:
Daja Kisubo's ship was sunk and her suraku had no more in it. She was losing her mind, her hope and her life. Everyone had left her, all her family. And it was all her fault. She was trangshi. The Trader courts didn't need to declare it, she already knew. She killed her family. What would it matter if she died now? She deserved it. Even Bookkeeper Oti knew that the murder of her family deserved death. No one was going to save her. That was obvious. Why should they? Maybe she should jump in the water now? Drowning is quicker than starving. She didn't deserve a quick death. She deserved to starve. A month later, when the trading season was in full flow, a Trader ship came across a small raft with a dead body on it.
In Hajra, port city of Sotat:
Roach had been sentenced to the docks. The rest of his gang were in the mines. He hauled more nets of fish onto the pier. His chains rattled as he pulled the net over his scarred back. He had given the guards a lot of trouble and trouble won't be tolerated. The whip cracked down on him again. The guard told him to hurry up. That was it. He could take no more. Roach ran. He got a head start on the guards, a smile on his face as he dodged past a couple more. Then he fell to the ground. One of the younger guards had launched himself at Roach's legs and trapped them. Roach tried to struggle out of his grip but his chains had been grabbed by a few of the other guards. They were sore about him dodging past them so they picked up their whips. They began laying into the boy cowering on the ground. They carried on hitting him even when his lifeless eyes stared back up at them. They hit him until his body was mangled and the flesh torn beyond recognition.
In the city of Ninver, in Capchen:
Trisana Chandler is to go with the next trade caravans when they leave for Emelan. She must go to the Winding Circle temple community. The Dedicate Superior says that that is the best place for her to be because they can handle a case like hers. It seems she is possessed by a spirit, or part elemental, or carrying a ghost. If only they knew about the voices she can hear. She smiled grimly as the wind whipped her hair. But they don't ever have to know. How can they know if only her living lips can tell them? And she wouldn't be living much longer. The sixty-foot drop below her was enough to ensure that. Her demon-crazed existence would be ended. With those final thoughts she stepped off the platform. And plummeted. Falling. Faster and faster, the ground coming closer. Until, she stopped falling.
Niko was still in bed, in the infirmary. He kept muttering about four children. Suddenly, his face contorted into a mask of horror. He saw the children and their deaths. The pain and the horror.
He went mad with grief.
In the Palace of Black Swans, Zakdin, capital of Hatar:
Lady Sandrilene fa Toren was in her dark cell. The oil lamp had gone out long ago. She was still braiding her threads of light. The last of the silk ran through her fingers as the light dulled down to a smoky grey. Her fingers trembled with exhaustion. Her eyes showed the horrors she had witnessed and the despair she now felt. What was the point? Why didn't she just give up? It would be so much easier. So that is what she did when the last of her silks were braided and there was no more light. She gave up. She lay down on her side and closed her eyes. For the last time.
In the southeastern Pebbled Sea:
Daja Kisubo's ship was sunk and her suraku had no more in it. She was losing her mind, her hope and her life. Everyone had left her, all her family. And it was all her fault. She was trangshi. The Trader courts didn't need to declare it, she already knew. She killed her family. What would it matter if she died now? She deserved it. Even Bookkeeper Oti knew that the murder of her family deserved death. No one was going to save her. That was obvious. Why should they? Maybe she should jump in the water now? Drowning is quicker than starving. She didn't deserve a quick death. She deserved to starve. A month later, when the trading season was in full flow, a Trader ship came across a small raft with a dead body on it.
In Hajra, port city of Sotat:
Roach had been sentenced to the docks. The rest of his gang were in the mines. He hauled more nets of fish onto the pier. His chains rattled as he pulled the net over his scarred back. He had given the guards a lot of trouble and trouble won't be tolerated. The whip cracked down on him again. The guard told him to hurry up. That was it. He could take no more. Roach ran. He got a head start on the guards, a smile on his face as he dodged past a couple more. Then he fell to the ground. One of the younger guards had launched himself at Roach's legs and trapped them. Roach tried to struggle out of his grip but his chains had been grabbed by a few of the other guards. They were sore about him dodging past them so they picked up their whips. They began laying into the boy cowering on the ground. They carried on hitting him even when his lifeless eyes stared back up at them. They hit him until his body was mangled and the flesh torn beyond recognition.
In the city of Ninver, in Capchen:
Trisana Chandler is to go with the next trade caravans when they leave for Emelan. She must go to the Winding Circle temple community. The Dedicate Superior says that that is the best place for her to be because they can handle a case like hers. It seems she is possessed by a spirit, or part elemental, or carrying a ghost. If only they knew about the voices she can hear. She smiled grimly as the wind whipped her hair. But they don't ever have to know. How can they know if only her living lips can tell them? And she wouldn't be living much longer. The sixty-foot drop below her was enough to ensure that. Her demon-crazed existence would be ended. With those final thoughts she stepped off the platform. And plummeted. Falling. Faster and faster, the ground coming closer. Until, she stopped falling.
Niko was still in bed, in the infirmary. He kept muttering about four children. Suddenly, his face contorted into a mask of horror. He saw the children and their deaths. The pain and the horror.
He went mad with grief.